“Yes, Madame.”
“Thank you very much. Did Madame go to headquarters this morning?”
“She went to ask them to send you home, but instead they told her she was the one who should be sent home. Was that not glorious? Oo-lá-lá, how I should have loved to hear it and to see the face of Madame.”
“That will do, please, Marie,” rebuked the Overton girl. “She is our superior. Thank you for your kindness about the room.”
Marie smiled and nodded as she backed to the door, then closed it softly behind her. Grace stepped over and locked the door, and pulling the shade down began a thorough examination of the room. First she examined the furniture, then the fireplace, the lighting fixtures and the baseboard that extended all the way around the room.
“All clear,” muttered the girl.
Next, the walls came in for a scrutiny. Not only did she look the walls over, but felt them gingerly with her finger tips. What the result of that search was Grace Harlowe did not even confide to Elfreda Briggs, but she was satisfied that her intuition again had served her well, and was now determined to be more watchful than ever.
Her suspicions were still further confirmed when she heard the voices of Mrs. Smythe and Miss Marshall in conversation with the doctor in his apartment that evening. They were making merry and Madame was actually laughing. When Grace discovered that they were discussing subjects that she knew were of military value she was horrified that Mrs. Smythe could so far forget herself, but what to do about it she did not know. Grace felt that she should take the matter to Captain Boucher, yet she could not quite bring herself to carry tales about the woman she did not like. It looked petty to her, beneath her, so Grace decided to await developments and continue with her work.
That night as she lay wide awake in her bed, she heard the doctor go to the cellar. She heard him fix the furnace for the night; then the sound of distant conversation floated up to her. After a time the doctor came up and the house settled down to silence.